Without
by Mushroom Hair
Summary: You
1. Chapter 1

"Loving the shoes…" Sam's eyes flicked haughtily down as he moved slightly to one side, allowing a little gap in the hallway for the babies buggy to get by.

"Thanks, Syed bought them for me." Amira flashed a cold smile and manoeuvred past, elbowing him in the chest as she did so. Steve shot a warning glance at Sam, hearing his mutter of "I bet he did," leaping forward to help Amira with the front door. He ducked down to beam delightedly at Yasmin and stroked her cheek. "She's beautiful!"

Amira touched her hair, the smugness of her expression counteracted by a faint air of unease at the two men's presence. "Isn't she! Syed's little princess, he dotes on her. Go through, he's quite busy but he can probably spare you a moment."

Spotting the myriad of faces Sam was pulling in quick succession behind Amira's back, Steve poked him roughly in the stomach and frogmarched him into the flat.

"What?" Sam protested noisily, "Silly cow… Oh, hello! You look shit!"

Syed lifted weary, blank eyes from the laptop, and attempted a smile.

"You two! How nice…" He made to get up from the sofa, and Sam pointed in horror.

"What's that tiny wicker monstrosity you're sitting on? Where's the real sofa gone?" He scanned the room, as if their previous sofa might be folded carefully in a corner, waiting to be unfurled. "Did SHE make you buy it?"

"No, we… Christian…" It seemed to both hurt Syed to say the name, and give him a secret pleasure, "the other one was a bit big for the space…" He absentmindedly moved one of Yasmin's babygro's from beside him. "How are you both? You look well…"

"You don't…" Sam began to sift through the unwashed crockery on the worktop, scowling with disdain. "State of this place!"

Steve shook his head in despair at Sam, and bent to envelop Syed in a hug, so fierce it crushed the breath from his body.

"As you can tell, Sam is on fine tactful form. He should really get himself a job with United Nations. How are you? Have you lost a bit of weight?"

Syed pulled at the neck of his green tee shirt.

"Maybe a little. Did you see Yasmin?"

"Your daughter? Yes, she's truly beautiful."

Turning the tap on at full force, and rolling up the sleeves of his designer sweater, Sam pursed his lips and grimaced, mouthing to himself; "Looks like a baby."

"You don't have to do that, Sam, I was just about to." Syed pointed at the screen of the laptop. "I've been trying to work out a business plan. Amira's had a great idea…"

"Oh, HAS she now?" Sam hissed, and Steve admonished him sharply, "For god's sake, will you pack it in?"

Syed regarded them both. Steve, almost filling the whole room with his bulk, emanating reassuring soothing warmth. Sam, waspishly clattering at the sink, trying to do something to help without letting anyone know that he was. It transported him briefly to a happier time, in the old flat, and he waited to hear a familiar voice from the other room, shouting abuse at Sam, watched the doorway to the bedroom, wanting it to be filled with broad shoulders, a beloved face. He dragged his gaze away, chiding himself for the same pathetic hope that made him wake each morning and turn to lay his head on Christian's chest, that made him listen for singing in the shower that never came.

"Have you heard from him?" Syed could barely get the words out, knowing, full well, what the answer would be. Steve sat beside him, crushing him up against the wicker arm, as Christian used to, and Syed tried to see a positive from the fact that at least now, spending the long evenings sat beside Amira or Jane, he had more room to stretch out.

"Not since the text, saying not to worry…"

"And that he was mending…" Syed added, clutching onto the small piece of information like a fragment of passing jetsam in a turbulent sea.

"Yes…" Steve put his arm around him, and Syed tensed his muscles, pulling away from the kindness, desperate not to crumble. Sam clattered a dish onto the drainer.

"He's a fucking idiot." He declared, stating his view as a fact, and dried his hands on a tea towel. "And I've ruined my nails. Doesn't that wife of yours DO housework?"

"It isn't one of Amira's strong points, no…" Syed admitted, feeling he should stick up for her, but lacking the inclination or the energy.

"Oh well, I suppose she's got lovely hair… What are you going to do?" Sam folded his arms, and studied Syed sternly.

"Do?"

"About all this mess."

"The flat?" Syed blinked at Sam in confusion.

"Don't be obtuse. About Christian, you remember him. Tall, muscles to die for, funny, loyal, heart too big for his own good, does mental things like fucking off and leaving the love of his life…"

Syed flushed with anger, and pushed away Steve's restraining hold.

"Exactly Sam, he left me. He won't answer my calls. I don't know where to look for him, and he doesn't want to be found. I have a child to care for, a job, a wife…"

"So that's it then, you're going to give up and go back to wifey? Good luck with that."

"SAM! We came round to give Syed support, not a hard time. Look at him, he's suffering…" Steve growled.

"Of course he bloody is. So is Christian, wherever the hell the stupid twat's taken himself off to. Oh, I could knock the pair of your heads together, so help me. And I am being supportive, I've done the dishes."

Syed ran his hands through his hair, feeling too defeated to explain, to say how nothing was as simple as Sam thought, as black and white, how things had been broken, trust eroded and how there was no chance of mending anything unless Christian came home.

"It is how it is…" He mumbled feebly. "Jane says I need to move on…"

"Maybe you do…" Steve's quiet deep voice rumbled close to his ear. "But it seems there's a danger of going backwards."

"You're wrong. There's Yasmin to think of, her future, I might go to Pakistan…"

"Oh for fucks sake!" Sam slapped his forehead with his palm. "What are you going to do there when you need cock? Sneak around? Go without forever? Do you think Christian's doing that? Believe me, it won't be long 'til he's back out there and some lucky fucker gets a go on him…"

The thought, that Syed had tried to keep buried, stuck into his guts with a red-hot stab of anguish and jealousy, making him clutch his stomach in despair.

"…Come home with us Syed, we'll sort you out."

Steve jumped to his feet and roughly manhandled Sam towards the door.

"I'm so sorry, Syed. I should have known it was a bad idea bringing Mr Insensitive round. If you need anything, someone to talk to, call me. I'll gag Sam and shove him in a cupboard, or I would, if I didn't think he'd enjoy it. But he does have a point, you know. There will come a time when you might consider being with someone else…"

Syed accepted their kisses numbly, heard them squabbling out into the square, Sam's outraged cries of insistence that he was right, squawking about 'tough love.'

He sat, immobile, watching the light fade through the Venetian blinds, thinking of nothing, until a key rattled in the front door and a baby cried.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC :) xx<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm exhausted! Why are you sitting in the dark?"

The lights flared on, and Amira handed Yasmin, grizzly and fractious, into Syed's arms.

"She's being a little madam. Your mum wants us over for dinner tomorrow. Look! Isn't this the cutest thing ever?" Amira rummaged in one of the many carrier bags hanging from the handle of the pushchair, and held up a small pink dress.

"The cutest…" Syed smiled into his daughter's eyes and she curled her tiny fingers around his, instantly soothed. "…Is it for you?" He knew the joke was lame, but he congratulated himself for making the effort.

Amira raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, and produced another piece of fabric, something slinky and turquoise and, he assumed, expensive.

"Silly! No, this is for me. What do you think?" She held it up against her breasts and twirled round coquettishly.

"Lovely. Has Yasmin been fed?"

"Yep, she dined with Uncle Kamil. And she's had a bath. Zainab adores fussing over her… Will you get her off to sleep?" Amira began to unpack more bags, shedding tissue paper all over the floor, and Syed wondered if she might produce anything useful, like food, or a big pile of cash, or, best of all, Christian.

"You mustn't let mum do too much, you know she hasn't been well…" Syed stroked Yasmin's soft hair and retrieved her toy moose from the buggy.

"You try and stop her." Amira pointed out mildly, and Syed laughed, the noise sounding strange and hollow in his throat.

"True."

"Did little and large stay long? Why were they here? Had they come to pick up some of his stuff?" She scowled at the charcoal print of the naked man that hung on the wall.

"…I see that's still here. Well, you won't have to see them again; the skinny one didn't like me. His top was awesome though, you should get one."

"They're our friends…" Syed realised with a pang that there might no longer be an 'our' and quickly amended his words. "..MY friends, of course I'll see them again. Sam's funny, bitchy as hell. You two should get on…" Her other comments, about Christian's things, played on his mind. He looked anxiously at the familiar items, checked that the framed photograph of the two of them was still in its proper position, despite Amira's attempts to push it further backwards and use it as a resting place for terry towelling bibs.

He stood, cradling the baby carefully, and went into the spare room to get her ready for bed. Leaning over the cot that Christian had bought, softly crooning a lullaby and waiting for Yasmin to drop off, he imagined him assembling it, carefully cleaning it, sorting the pieces, cursing when he couldn't get it together straight away, and felt the ever present knot tighten in his chest. As soon as Yasmin's breathing slowed, and he knew she was asleep, he backed quietly from the room and grabbed his leather jacket from the coat hook by the door.

"She's settled. I'm going out."

Amira put down the magazine she was reading, one long finger scraping against the page with a noise that set Syed's teeth on edge.

"Are we having takeaway again? Is that what you and him lived on?"

"No, we made shopping lists, went to supermarkets…" Syed fondly remembered the squabbles, the covert adding of custard creams and bottles of wine to the trolley, Christian coming over all unnecessary in the vegetable aisle and the race to get home and spend the afternoon in bed. His eyes smarted with tears that he hurriedly blinked away, when he recalled all the times they had cooked together. Early days, in the Masala Queen unit, silent beside each other, perfectly in sync, the heat between them hotter than the flames on the gas hob. Or in their old flat, singing at the top of their voices to tunes on the radio, dancing around in the narrow space, him lobbing bits of food at Christian's head to get attention, collapsing helpless with love and lust as he was tickled mercilessly in retribution.

"…I'm going out for the evening. Not sure when I'll be back…"

"Oh. I could come with you! We could have a meal, go the cinema."

"What about Yasmin?"

Amira pursed her lips, then brightened as she hit on a solution.

"Your mum would love to have her."

"She's had her most of the afternoon, and I've only just got her off to sleep." Syed placed his hand on the doorknob, squeezing it so tightly that his tendons began to ache, desperate to get away.

"Jane should be back. We could wait for her? Or I could call one of the Branning girls, I'm sure they'd be happy to babysit. It'll be nice, an evening out, the two of us. Like old times!"

"This isn't old times Amira…" Syed tried to keep the impatience from his voice, tried to remain kind. "… And I don't know if Jane's coming back tonight, she said something about Tanya."

Her face fell, and he winced at the wave of guilt.

"Oh fine. It'll be lonely without you."

"I'm sorry you're lonely Amira…" The quiet heartfelt regret in his tone made her eyelids flicker in surprise, yet she remained unaware of how terrible and painful his own loneliness had become, how he had seen a glimpse of a possible future, when he would have to sneak away, his absences never discussed between them.

"…I'll see you tomorrow."

In the hallway, he inhaled deeply, and attempted to summon resolve and courage from somewhere in his soul. Checking his pockets, making sure he had his wallet, his phone and his Oyster card, Syed set off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**:( xx**

* * *

><p>The ice in the glass of orange juice clutched in Syed's hands was having no effect on the nervous clammy heat of his palms. Leaning against the bar of the nightclub, watching the dancers and attempting to appear insouciant, he had no idea why he was putting himself through such a hideous ordeal.<p>

So far, he had already been to two bars and another club. He was tired, dispirited, and he was running out of money.

'At this rate,' he thought glumly, 'I'll have to start accepting all those offer of drinks I've been turning down…' He knew the statement he had been trotting out to various eager men, that he was waiting for someone, probably sounded like a lie, yet it was so profoundly true, and that however much he might appear to be moving on, he would be waiting for a certain someone until the day he died.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the set of broad shoulders, short hair, a man dipping his head to kiss another, and his heart lurched with a savage snag of pain until the man turned around and he saw it wasn't Christian. Just as it hadn't been Christian all the other times that evening when he had frantically grasped onto a similarity glimpsed through a flash of a strobe light, or half seen behind a dancing throng.

'I don't even know if he's still in London…' He told himself. 'He could be in America or Barcelona…' A flash of memory, Christian looking at him with such heartache from across the road, the pressure of Amira clutching on his arm, claiming her ownership, her crass words, made his hand give an involuntary shake and juice slopped stickily over the side of the glass onto his wrist.

"Steady! Would you like another?" A voice, warm and friendly at his ear and a pleasant smell of aftershave made him start, and he spilled a little more of his drink.

"Clumsy! No, thank you… I'm waiting for someone…"

'Who doesn't want to speak to me. Who could be in Brighton, or Hebden Bridge, shacked up with his new man, that he had on the go all the time. Some guy who's uncomplicated, no baggage, without a head full of family and culture and trying to do the right thing…." He watched the man stroll away and tried to settle his own breathing, to stop working himself up into a panic. He liked the way the man moved, the easy grace and confidence, brown hair curling against the nape of his neck, and wondered if he was his type, if, indeed, he had a type. He struggled to recall the faces of the people before Christian, didn't really want to, associating them in his mind with dark, fumbling shame.

'My next boyfriend will be nearer the same age as me, maybe even my own faith, more suitable…' He resolved defiantly. 'Won't sing so loudly, won't get pissed, won't make me go jogging, won't take up so much room in bed…'

The image of Christian sleeping, eyelashes curving against his cheek, his broad chest rising and falling slowly, arms raised above his head like a child, was so vivid it hurt Syed with a physical jolt in his gut. He struggled to fight it away.

'…Won't be an idiot, won't stand up for what he believes, and tries to help everyone, and gets himself in situations because he's too damn kind hearted, and gets an idea in his head and just rolls along with it, dragging everyone in his wake because he's so bloody enthusiastic and hasn't thought it through. I'll get a nice quiet man, dull and undemanding who'll not notice that my mother loathes him, and not stand up for me, and wait and wait, even when I knock him back time and time again….Oh shit…" Syed felt tears rising, the knowledge stark and plain that there would never be anyone again who he would love as much as Christian, who would love him with the same intensity, endure as much, no one he would adore so totally, passionately, entirely. That maybe he should channel all his hopes into being a good father, a good son, a successful businessman, because a love like that would never come again.

The music in the club seemed to get louder, building up to a cacophony in his brain, the throb of the bass rattling the nerves in his teeth, and he looked around wildly, desperate to locate the exit. He pushed his way through the crowd, the flailing limbs of the dancers, the hot acrid sweat smell, jumbling against his senses, seeming to cloy and drag him under as he fought blindly to escape.

He clanked down the metal bar on the fire door and stumbled out into a side alley, steadying himself against one of the stinking bins, trying to calm the ragged snatched breaths that ripped along his lungs and to slow the frantic thumping of his heart.

He dragged his phone from his pocket and pressed through his contacts, yearning to find the name of somebody, somewhere, who might be able to make him feel even a tiny bit better. He hit a number, listening with anguish as the dialling tone rang and rang, and he slid down the wall in despair, sitting slumped on the cold stone floor with his head in his hands.

"HELLO SEXY!"

The bright, cheerful voice, shouting above a background soundtrack of laughter and clinking glasses, made Syed burst into tears, and he spluttered through choking sobs;

"Can I see you? I'm not coping very well."


	4. Chapter 4

"Syed Masoooood!" Michael sang his name, and crouched down in front of him, his forehead instantly furrowing with concern at the sight of Syed's face. "What are you doing all slumped and sad by the bins, matey?"

"I feel rubbish." Syed managed a weak and watery smile, allowing himself to be hoiked upright by Michael's hands under his armpits.

"Aww! Come on sunshine; let's get you inside." Michael slung his arm around Syed's shoulder and twisted him round.

"I'm not going back in there!" Syed's voice rose with anxiety.

"Okey dokey! Though I always rather liked this club, and this filthy alley…" Michael spun Syed around again, making him feel giddy, and marched him up the alleyway towards the main road. "We'll find somewhere warm and quiet."

Syed looked at Michael, leaning over the bar, flipping a beer mat through his fingers and laughing at something the barman had said, then around the dingy, almost empty pub. Huddling deeper into his leather jacket, pulling the zip up tight to his neck, trying to dispel the cold that crept insidiously through his bones, he grinned wryly when he registered that 'I will survive' was playing softly on the jukebox.

"It smells a bit funky, but it should perk you up…." Michael slid a cup and saucer across the table over to Syed. "…Always seems weird to me, buying coffee in a pub, so I got myself a big pint of fizzy lager beer to maintain the status quo.."

"Whatever you want…" Syed joked feebly. "…You're looking good. Nautical..." He reached across and touched the front of Michael's black and white striped top. Michael twitched away the lapel of his suit jacket and studied his own chest.

"Rory said I look like Marcel Marceau, cheeky fucker."

"And how did you respond to that?"

Michael curled down his fingers and jabbed his index finger in the air.

"Through the art of mime... Actually, I pretended I was being blown back by a strong wind, followed by climbing out of an imaginary box, and he withered me with a stern death glare."

"Oh." Syed smiled the best smile he could manage. "How is he?"

"Awesome. He's doing a lecture tonight at the British Museum. He wouldn't let me go with him, said he couldn't concentrate properly if I was there, and might end up saying 'cock' by accident. Shame, I rather fancied carrying him off and doing it up against an exhibit…" Michael tailed off, realising he was being insensitive by going on about his partner when Syed was so newly alone.

"Oh well, perhaps he'll let you go another time. You look good. You always look good. I'm sorry, have you been out? I hope I haven't taken you away from something interesting." It had occurred to Syed, through his miasma of misery, that other people had lives, weren't merely dragging themselves through the days waiting for the pain to go away.

"Only some shoe launch. Not literally, not shoes being launched from cannons and catapults, that would have been more fun! The usual designer shenanigans, lots of free champers, and loud fake laughing. It was okay. What were you doing in that club? Not your scene, I'd have thought. Were you on the pull?"

Syed took a sip of his drink, and grimaced.

"How many sugars have you put in this?" He mustered a bluster of bravado, and shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"Yeah, I was. I'm on my own now, why not?"

Michael, taken aback, opened his blue eyes wide.

"Why not indeed? Any luck? They must have been hideous mingers if the experience drove you to squat beside the bins with your face all puffy and miserable." He leaned over and tenderly pushed a strand of hair from Syed's cheek. "Were you looking for Christian?"

Bleakly, Syed nodded.

"Yeah..."

Dragging his chair around the table, Michael sat beside him and picked up his hand, holding it in his own. The glint of tears on Syed's lashes, when he turned his gaze to meet his, made him sick with sadness for his friend.

"…Have you heard from him, Michael?"

"No, no. Only the 'don't worry' text that everybody seemed to get…"

"Except me…"

A rush of cold air distracted them both as the doors pushed open, and two elderly men entered the pub, damp from a sudden downpour. The shorter, and seemingly younger of the two, fussed over the other, brushing moisture from the shoulders of his tweed coat, and hurried him over to the bar. Syed caught a glimpse of a gleam of dull gold on their ring fingers as their hands briefly entwined; saw the way they smiled at each other. A familiar kind softness from a lifetime of shared love.

"Me and Christian were going to be like that…" Syed knew the tears were coming again, and swallowed hard, not wanting to end up a bawling mess in public.

Michael squinted at the pair, noticing that the older man had an improbable shock of bouffant hair, the colour on top suspiciously different from the sides.

"Which one of you is wearing the dodgy syrup?"

Stifling a welcome yelp of mirth, Syed knocked his knee against Michaels under the table.

"Shush you… Christian, definitely. He so would. I'd have to lie that it looked splendid and not even remotely wiggy…"

"The temptation to knock it sideways and make it jaunty must be unbearable… Ugh, baldness and decrepitude…" Michael bit his lip at the depressing thought.

"You'll always be handsome, you sod, I've seen your granddad. It won't matter though, will it? If somebody still sees you as you truly are, underneath the wrinkles and the droopy jowls. If you've had a shared life of joy and unhappiness, and stuck together throughout it all…"

Michael started in alarm, diverted from his unpleasant reverie about sagging muscles and bad teeth, at the strange noise Syed made, a mix between a hiccup and a small mew.

"Oh! Oh! Syed! Don't cry… Let's get out of here; I'll take you back to mine…"


	5. Chapter 5

Syed had spent the taxi journey with his face buried into Michael's neck, vibrating quietly with muffled sobs, while Michael wittered on inanely in a pathetic attempt to cheer him up. He had admitted defeat when he had eventually found himself trotting out the ancient adage, that there were plenty more fish in the sea, and Syed had pointed out sadly that he didn't want to spend his life with a halibut.

Back at Michael's flat, Syed regained some of his composure, perching on the edge of the low leather sofa, his jacket still fastened tightly to the top, while Michael bustled about him, turning on lights, and opting for diversionary tactics to lighten the mood of gloom.

"Coffee? Food? Music? Telly on? A DVD? Shall I turn the heating up? Do an exotic dance with two bananas and a scuzzy looking nectarine?" Michael picked the fruit up from the bowl and waggled it, cheered when Syed's mouth lifted into a smile.

"Go on then! Actually, I wouldn't mind a decent cup of coffee; take the taste of that other muck away, even though I'll probably get the jitters…" He pointed towards the chrome sleekness of the Gaggia, Michael's pride and joy. "…That thing looks pretty impressive…"

"Oh believe me, ALL my things are impressive. Here, put this on, you look like a visiting official, sitting there in your coat…" Michael threw Syed a black hoodie, and set about preparing him a cappuccino, shouting above the hiss of the steam,

"HOW'S THE MASSEURING GOING? I BET YOU'RE REALLY POPULAR! I'M STILL WAITING FOR YOU TO GIVE ME ONE, TEE HEE..."

"IT'S DEADLY. TANYA, THE SALON MANAGER, IS REALLY ILL. DOESN'T MATTER, AMIRA'S HAD A BUSINESS IDEA, SO WE'RE OFF TO PAKISTAN…"

Michael dropped the spout in shock, and a little bubble of milk leaked from the end, expanded slowly, popped and dripped hotly onto his hand.

"You WHAT? You won't find Christian there, and I doubt if there's any gay clubs, where will you go if you want…"

"Cock?" Syed finished Michael's sentence for him with a sigh. "You sound like Sam. It's only for a while, to sort out factories and stuff. I need to make money. I want to set Yasmin up for her future…"

Michael shifted up the Perspex table and put down Syed's drink. He noticed how the whole of Syed's demeanour changed when he mentioned his daughter, how he brightened, showed a glimpse of his old self, and cursed himself for not having the foresight to steer Syed's thoughts that way before now.

"She's so beautiful, Syed. Those pictures you sent me, made me all broody…" Michael hoped Syed wouldn't work out that the last part was a lie. As Syed took off his jacket, and pulled the hoody over his head, messing up his dark hair. Michael winced at the sight of his ribs, jutting through the thin material of his green tee shirt.

"There's newer ones. Look!" Syed took his phone from his pocket, and proudly began to scroll through the photos.

"Aww! Cute!" Michael made appreciative noises, relaxing; relieved that Syed's tears appeared to have dried, at least for now.

Looking at the images of Yasmin's, Syed felt his heart swell with love, and said quietly,

"Who would ever have thought, Michael? Me? A dad! Responsible for a little life… How are you getting on with Fred?"

Michael grimaced.

"Well, I'm still learning. But we're about the same age, so that makes it easier. No, scrub that, she's quite a bit older than me. You always wanted kids, though, didn't you. Weren't you going to adopt?" Michael shut his mouth with a snap, figuring, from the drooping of Syed's shoulders, that now might be a good time to punch himself in the face.

"It was all Christian wanted. Me and him, a family..."

"Is that why he left?"

The gallery on Syed's phone had stopped at a picture of him, Yasmin and Amira in the park. Syed angrily threw it down on the sofa beside him.

"Being branded a paedo, by a boy he was being supportive to, didn't help. And me getting angry with him, because I was worried what other trouble his big, stupid, generous heart would get him into, and having my attention divided, missing how side-lined he felt. Add in my mother's vile new fiancé meddling… There's me in the middle, besotted with my daughter, trying to keep everyone happy, trying to get Amira on side, so that Christian could be a part of Yasmin's life…"

"I still can't believe your mum and dad split up; I would never have imagined that happening in a million years! I take it Amira's not keen on Christian?" Michael was pretty sure he knew the answer, and gently rubbed Syed's back.

"Funnily enough, no. Her and my mother are still united in their belief that he's the big bad bastard wolf that sent me gay…"

Michael had a sudden vision of Christian, laughing loudly in the sunshine, powerful arms folded across his magnificent chest, and hated the way it almost seemed as if he had died, the notion dawning that he, too, might never see him again.

"If anyone was capable of that miraculous feat, then it's Christian. Yet she's forgiven you…" A thought slowly took shape in the back of Michael's brain, and he stood up, crossing to the fridge to get a bottle of beer.

"I think so. I hurt her really badly, but we've got Yasmin now. And if I can help her get her business off the ground, give her a bit of independence…"

"And you're sure…" Michael flipped the lid from the bottle and took a swig, worried about finishing the question.

"Sure about what?"

"That she's not still holding a torch? She isn't under the illusion that you'll go back to her, is she?"

Michael hadn't expected Syed to look so shocked at the possibility.

"No! I'm gay. She knows that. Surely?"

"But you've been with her at least once, she might be holding out for a repeat performance."

Shuddering, Syed closed his eyes.

"Don't. There was only one time that wasn't beyond awful. For some reason, it was a bit different. She smelt like home... "He laughed hollowly. "And I thought I was such a hero, that it proved I couldn't possibly be gay. She needs to meet someone else, have someone love her physically, to feel the way I feel when Christian loves," He corrected himself quickly, "loved me."

He followed Michael with his eyes as he came back to sit beside him.

"You slept with loads of girls at school."

"Only when I was wasted, and to be kind, and because I could. What's this? You want me to give your wife a good time? Show her what she's missing? I'll have to check with Rory, see if that counts as infidelity." Michael picked up Syed's phone and studied the picture from the park. "She's very attractive."

"Yes."

"Shame neither of us fancy her. Seriously Syed, make sure she remembers how things stand. I had Simone coming on to me at her own wedding, and it's been years since I slept with her."

"Did she have a lovely day? We wanted to come but I had a chest infection. Christian would have cried. He adores a good wedding…"

Spotting that Syed was beginning to look distraught again, Michael grabbed the phone and tried to find more pictures of Yasmin, to distract him. Unfortunately, he managed to bring up a picture of Christian jogging round the square, glorious in a sweaty vest. Michael pressed all the buttons frantically, making the phone ring loudly, beep six times and turn off. Sheepishly, he handed it back.

"Sorry! I need a cigarette; I'll go out on the terrace, save your lungs. Will you be all right on your own for a minute? Help yourself to anything. Have a little lie down…"

"It's your flat; you can smoke in it if you want. Amira would love it here..."

"Then she should come and stay! I'm mostly at Rory's, or away working. Give you a bit of space…" Michael felt very pleased, thinking he had hit on a marvellous plan, but Syed's expression, and the single tear leaking from the corner of his eye, told a different story.

"I'm not sure I'd like space. Too much time to think..."

Michael stood shivering on the rainy terrace, power smoking a sodden roll up, and waited for Rory to pick up the phone. The voice of the automated woman breezed into life, and he growled with frustration.

"You know I usually love that woman, but where are you? I've got Syed at the flat, he's melting down, and everything I try to do makes it worse. I'm scared he's going to give up and go back into the terrifying bosom of his family, or just terrifying bosoms. Come here quickly! I am useless. Love you."

Michael paused in the doorway, and felt his stomach sink. Syed still sat desolately on the sofa, and now he had his head in his hands and his shoulders were shaking in time with his wretched weeping.

"Hey! Hey! Don't do that Masood!" Michael raced to sit beside him; cradling him in his arms and pressing his head close against his chest. He stroked his hair and rocked him, praying that the soothing motion would bring some comfort.

Syed shifted slightly; looking into his eyes, his expression so stricken, it scared Michael.

"I don't know what to do, Michael!"

Michael didn't know what to do either, so he gently took Syed's face in his hands and kissed him.


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'm a bit scared to post this! :O Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, sorry there was so much crying... Soon be Christmas :) xxxxxxx**_

* * *

><p>The tang of alcohol on Michael's lips tasted familiar, mixed with the salt of his own tears, and Syed felt all his sorrow, anger, his sense of abandonment, well inside him. The pressure of Michael's mouth began to retreat, almost as soon as it began, and Syed leaned further forward, insistent and urgent, pushing against him with a need to forget, to lose himself. He opened his mouth, finding Michael's tongue. Michael seemed to surrender, wrapping his fingers through Syed's hair, kissing him back with a tenderness and passion that made Syed faint with desire, sent the blood beating loud in his head. He slid his hand upwards, along the inside of Michael's thigh, until, with a sudden firm pressure, Michael stopped him and and broke away.<p>

"No." Michael's voice was low, and quiet, and he looked into Syed's beautiful, bewildered eyes with regret.

"No?"

"Definitely no…"

Mustering a weak smile, Syed slowly traced the thin white scar above Michael's lip with his thumb.

"A million per cent no…Thank you."

In a rush of emotion, it all became too much for Michael, and he began to cry, for two boys on a cricket field and a future that never happened, for a man with geeky glasses who he loved with all his heart. Seeing him crumble, Syed joined in, yearning for Christian's strong arms and his old life that seemed to be lost forever.

"Here I am!"

Rory put down his keys and his battered brown case, slid his gaze from one to the other of them, side by side on the sofa, weeping uncontrollably, and sighed.

"Oh, for goodness sake…"

He walked past them and into the bathroom, pulling down copious amounts of toilet paper from the holder. Returning with the strip trailing behind him, he tore carefully along the serrations and handed half to Syed. The other half, he heaped onto Michael's head.

"Syed, I can understand, but what are you blubbing about? Always need to be the centre of attention…"

He noticed that both of them had fallen silent, that Syed was studiously avoiding catching his eye, and that Michael, who had pulled the paper from his head, and was twisting it round and round in his lap, was staring at him intently.

"Ah. I seem to have caught you behind the bike sheds. Do we need to have a talk, Michael?"

Michael nodded glumly, and followed him into the bedroom.

Hanging his head, Michael slumped onto the edge of the bed.

"Do you want me to leave?" The question had been asked calmly, with no hint of distress, yet Michael could see a muscle twitching under the skin of Rory's jaw.

"Fuck off!" He exclaimed, terrified that Rory would.

"Is that a yes? What have you done?"

"I kissed him. I'm really, really, really sorry. He seemed so broken, and nothing I was saying was helping and I didn't know what to do…."

"So you thought a snog from you would put the whole universe to rights, and bring Christian zooming back on a winged chariot? You are such an utter arse, O'Riordan! The state of him, he doesn't look like he's got a clue what he's doing! Here…"

Squatting down, Rory took the toilet paper that Michael was still neurotically twirling, and carefully wiped away his tears. He kissed his forehead and stood back up, indicating that Michael should do the same.

"… Come on, let's go and sort out the real casualty. Though what on earth makes you think I'll be any better at it than you is beyond me. Maybe I should kiss him too, or find Christian and snog him, now I wouldn't mind that..."

"NO!" The very idea, made Michael nauseous with jealousy, increasing his awful guilt at how he must have made both Rory and Syed feel. He grabbed onto the back of Rory's waistband and followed out after him.

Syed had taken off the black hoodie, and had put on his leather jacket, once again zipped tight to the neck, as if it were armour, protecting him from the world. He paced the floor, anxiously pushing back his hair, turning, wild eyed, as they re-entered the room.

"I'm so, so, sorry, I shouldn't be here. I'm making a mess of everything."

"Sit down, Syed, and try and stop fretting. You're in a big old emotional hoo hah, and Michael's irresistible at the best of times, let alone when you're not in your right mind. I'll do something practical and reassuring. I could make tea. Does anyone want tea?"

Michael and Syed declined with a shake of their heads.

"Bugger, me neither. Bang goes that plan. There's an interesting programme on the History Channel we could watch…" Rory suggested brightly, and Michael groaned.

"Or we could stick needles in our knobs."

Syed made to rise from his uneasy perch.

"I really should go. Amira will be wondering where I am…"

"Amira?" Bemused, Rory pushed at the bridge of his spectacles, and sat on the arm of the sofa. Michael came to lean against him and pulled a face.

"Oh! Amira!" Rory exclaimed the penny dropping, and then added mildly, "Is it any of her business? I take it you haven't heard from Christian?"

Syed settled back against the cushions, deciding that Michael's strange boyfriend probably had a point, that it wasn't any of her business where he was, or who he was with. He felt slightly less stressed now, more rational, and happy to have company of people who cared about him, content to be in a place that wasn't awash with femininity and strewn with clothes, apart from the hoody that he had dropped on the floor. He picked it up and folded it carefully.

"No." He sighed. "Doesn't seem like I will now…"

"What about his stuff? Joint bank account, that sort of thing?"

"I expect Jane, his sister, will sort it all out…" Syed fought against the horrible drag of resignation.

Patting him kindly on the shoulder, Rory suggested,

"You could not let her?"

"Why don't I send him another message?" Michael chimed in, reaching across Rory to pick up his phone from the table.

"What could you say that would make any difference? Thank you, but I need to concentrate what little energy I have left on Yasmin and getting the business off the ground…" Syed stifled a yawn, exhausted by the prospect of any more emotions, wanting to push it all to the back of his mind, and get a little peace.

"One more try?" Michael couldn't bear for Syed to give up, knowing how much he loved Christian, that he meant everything to him. Fingers poised above the screen, he hesitated.

"I can't think what to say. What shall I say?" Syed stared at him blankly. "Rory, what shall I say?"

"Erm…Oh god, don't ask me… Oh!"

"What?" Michael and Syed spoke in unison.

"Put that Syed is in your flat."

Michael rapidly tapped out a message, and they all waited in silence, until Rory said;

"While we're waiting, there's still the History Channel…" Michael nudged him sharply with his elbow.

"Sod off… Eek!" They all jumped as the phone vibrated.

Syed's throat tightened with expectation, and a tiny ember of hope warmed his heart.

"What does it say?"

Unable to tell him, wishing it was more; Michael twisted the phone so he could read for himself.

_Look after him x_

"That's that then." Syed sniffed, and straightened his spine. "Have you still got your Xbox, Michael? And Forza Motorsport?"

"Darn tooting, I do!" Michael leapt up, touched at Syed's attempt to get back to a semblance of normality, knowing it was killing him inside.

"If Rory doesn't mind…" Rory met Syed's eyes, saw how sad and defeated they were, and raised his hands, slapping them down onto his knees.

"Not me! I'll go and watch the telly in the bedroom. It'll make a nice change not to have Michael making derogatory comments about the presenter, and sighing theatrically all the time."

"I don't!" Michael twiddled the lever on one of the game controllers at him and turned on the plasma television.

A small buzzing sound made them all stop in their tracks, poised as if they were playing a game of statues. Rory picked up the phone and smiled.

"It's from Christian, maybe only a tiny glimmer, but nevertheless… He's written it in capital letters, so I guess he means it. Michael, take note…"

He showed Michael the message, then handed the phone to Syed.

_BUT NOT IN THAT WAY!_

Syed was aware that the words meant little, yet just the fact that he had sent anything, knowing he was there, would read it, that he was jealous, gave him some resolve, and he tentatively touched the screen.

"Well…" He said softly, "You never know…"


End file.
